


A Card From Paris

by for_the_love_of_wolves



Series: One Hundred Ways To Say "I Love You" [10]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Light Angst, M/M, One Shot, Paris - Freeform, Peter expresses his love in macarons, Reunions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-22
Updated: 2021-01-22
Packaged: 2021-03-14 11:01:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28919493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/for_the_love_of_wolves/pseuds/for_the_love_of_wolves
Summary: Chris receives a card from Paris with an address and a phone number written on it. He buys the plane tickets the same night. (Written for number 29: "Well, what do you want to do?")
Relationships: Chris Argent/Peter Hale, Peter Hale & Malia Tate
Series: One Hundred Ways To Say "I Love You" [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1698595
Comments: 2
Kudos: 50





	A Card From Paris

Chris has missed France. He has missed Paris.

As soon as he sees the city spread out underneath him, the plane tilting gently as it flows a circle above it, Chris feels his heart beating faster and he abandons his crime book to watch the silhouettes of the familiar buildings coming closer. 

He'd been here with his family so often. When his mother was still alive, she used to take Chris and Kate with her, while Gerard tended to … family business. She showed them all the beautiful spots at the Seine, showed them where to get the best pain au chocolat in lovely little bakeries at hidden corners, and where they could take the most exciting pictures of the Eiffel Tower - places where the tower looked so small, they could pretend they were holding it in their hands. It was fun. After she died, the city became more somber and by now, he knows hunter bases all around Paris. But he’s not there for them. Oh no. 

Chris is glad when the plane lands and he can get on solid ground again, his legs aching from being in the same position for too long. The airport is crowded and Chris smiles when his ears get used to French again, when the language comes easily over his lips as he takes his suitcase and goes to search for a cab. 

When he sits in the car, he watches the cityscape passing by, thinking about how it happened he’s here and not still sitting in his empty house in Beacon Hills …   
  


* * *

A few days ago Chris got a card from Paris. 

There was the picture of the Seine on it. So blue, clean and well familiar. When he turned the card around, he saw Peter’s neat, slightly crooked handwriting on the paper. There wasn't much. Only an address and a number, and under them Peter’s familiar signature taking a ridiculous amount of space and screaming of self-confidence. 

The letters were floating in front of Chris’ eyes like a suggestion. Or a challenge. Coming from Peter, it was probably both. 

Chris stared at the card for long minutes. Something inside him already pulled at him, told him to pack his things and go. Something else just said _no_ . _No. You’re needed here. Scott and the others … They need you._

Still. Beacon Hills was not the same. After everything that had happened in the last years, Chris wouldn’t mind some … distraction. 

He still remembered the sharp hint of pain he’d felt, when Derek had told him Peter went to Paris without telling anyone else, taking Malia with him. Chris could understand it. Could understand Peter’s need to leave this haunting place and take a part of what was left of his family with him. Especially after he and Malia started to get along better (Well, "better" in Hale terms). Still. A certain part of Chris had been hurt. Peter could have said something, he’d thought. _Something._

Especially, after their latest quiet short conversations … About the past and the future. About wasted opportunities and possible new ones. About regrets. There were so many questions. Peter’s sudden and silent escape looked a lot like an answer to them. Chris didn’t like it. But he accepted it. 

Now, there was that card. And Chris couldn’t stop thinking about it, no matter if he tried or not.

He booked the plane tickets the same night, his heart pounding in his chest. 

* * *

  
Chris exits the cab, thanking the driver and straightening up, looking over the street at a little café at the corner. He checks the address on the card. Yes. That must be it. He looks again, and there he is. There’s Peter, lounging on a chair and bathing in the sun, his head tilted back and his eyes closed.

He looks … good. Healthy and relaxed. His face and what Christoph can see of his neck and chest over his shirt is well tanned. 

Malia sits at the same table, her legs crossed and her shoulder-length hair hiding her face. She’s typing on her phone in rapid speed. 

Peter’s head perks up as soon as Chris is crossing the street and he already knows the werewolf has caught his scent. But Peter still waits until Chris is right in front of their table until he really reacts. For the dramatic effect, Chris thinks. _Knows_. And he already feels so much more at home than he did in Beacon Hills for the last few months, it’s almost scaring him. 

Peter idly opens his eyes and smiles. “Christopher.” 

“Peter.” 

Malia glances up from her mobile, looks between them and then quickly lowers her head again after a quiet greeting. Chris thinks he caught the hint of a smirk on her face and doesn’t know how to feel about it. Peter clears his throat. “So, you got my card.”

“I did.” Chris sits on a free chair, the weakening sunbeams of the late afternoon warming up his face pleasantly. “Why here?” 

“Because I own this café,” Peter says and stretches his legs out, his eyes sparkling and a satisfied smirk spreading on his face. “I bought it."

“Ah. It’s nice.” Chris smiles. It’s fitting. Peter has always had a thing for pastries and good coffee. One of the few things that could get him out of bed in the morning, he knows. Ah. Memories. Just as fresh as the earthy scent of coffee floating in the air.

“Thank you. Coffee?” Peter asks, as if on cue. 

Chris nods. “I’d love to.” 

Peter doesn’t order the coffee. He actually gets up himself, stretches, and disappears inside the café. Chris looks after him, his mind wondering. After some time, he notices Malia is staring at him. She doesn’t avert her gaze when he returns her look, her eyes attentive and just a bit wary. “He said you’d come,” she says.

Chris doesn’t know what to say to that, so he just nods.

Malia wrinkles her nose. Suddenly, she bends forward, flashes her eyes bright blue for a short volatile moment and all but whispers, “You better not hurt him, you know. I know exactly where you are keeping your murder stuff."

Chris’ jaw drops. He searches for something to say, but he’s speechless. That doesn’t happen often. Malia just smirks and looks down on her phone again. It makes urgent noises. Chris realizes she must have inhabited the Hales' protective spark. He has been at the receiving end of this more than once in very different forms. Chris silently wonders what might have happened between Malia and Peter the last few weeks.

While he's still studying Malia curiously, Peter approaches with a mug of steaming coffee and a little plate. He puts everything in front of Chris wordlessly and flops back on his chair. 

There are three macarons on the plate. Yellow, green and pink. Chris’ lips twitch and suddenly, he doesn’t want to say anything at all. Doesn't _need_ to say anything, cause this is a language on its own. He vaguely remembers telling a much younger Peter how much he loved macarons as a child, but rarely got them after his mother died, since they were expensive and his father despised them like he did despise almost anything sweet and small.

The coffee is good. It’s like hot balm for Chris’ dry throat. He hasn’t drunk something that good in ages. Peter watches him closing his eyes after a sip with a knowing smirk. 

The next moment, Malia says her goodbyes, mumbling something about meeting with friends and shopping in the city. Chris watches in astonishment as Peter tells her to be on time for once, and Malia rolls her eyes, but she still nods and makes puppy eyes at Peter until he sighs and hands her some bills. Malia smiles in victory, mumbles _Bye Peter, Bye Mr. Argent_ and strolls off, not even looking to her left or right while crossing the street. Chris looks after her and then at Peter, arching his brows. 

Peter shrugs and leans back in his chair, reaching for a pair of designer sunglasses. Maybe, to hide that his eyes softened noticeably while following Malia until she disappeared around a corner. “I shouldn’t have taken the ungrateful brat to Paris,” he says with a heavy sigh. “She robs me shamelessly. You should see her room. Her wardrobe. It looks like the room of a baroque princess. But instead of dresses and corsets, there are jeans with _holes_ in them.” He grimaces and Chris chuckles.

There’s silence between them for a moment. It doesn't feel uncomfortable.

Above them, the sky slowly turns pink and at the edges it already transforms into the navy of the approaching night. 

“What now?” Chris eventually asks. His mind is calm. Relaxed. On his tongue, he can taste the pleasant, bittersweet aftertaste of the coffee. 

Peter shrugs and looks up at the sky. “Well, what do you want to do?”

Chris takes another sip of his coffee, thinks back to his favourite places in the city, and smiles. He has some ideas.

**Author's Note:**

> These short stories are written for prompts on this list: [One Hundred Ways To Say "I Love You"](https://phantasticlizzy.tumblr.com/post/169119615088/one-hundred-ways-to-say-i-love-you)
> 
> If this story sounds familiar to you, it is because it was posted in a story collection I deleted, cause I wanted to post the stories as One Shots and edit them in the process!


End file.
